Toxic Valentine
by Meganlovesjb
Summary: What if the potion Jocelyn took to protect herself and the people she loved from Valentine's grasps in City of Bones had failed? Jocelyn/Valentine. One Shot.


**Toxic Valentine**

"_Sex and white lies,  
Handcuffs and alibis…my toxic valentine…_

_I'm not the type to forget or to bury my head.  
Just take off your wings,  
They could never get you quite as high as I do,  
And you know it."_

-All Time Low

* * *

What if the potion Jocelyn took to protect herself and the people she loved from Valentine's grasps in City of Bones had failed? Jocelyn/Valentine.

* * *

Jocelyn blinked rapidly, squinting at the intruding brightness against her heavy lids. To say she felt disoriented would be putting it lightly. Mostly, she felt heavy. It took Jocelyn a few minutes to fully open her crusty eyes and squint into the dimly lit space around her.

How long had she been unconscious? She winced, squinting as her mind reeled and she glanced around in confusion. The last thing she could recall through the haze was downing the potion with as much haste as she could at the realization that her worst fear had come true. She knew she would not wake until she was safe, until Clary had recovered the antidote, and she would, Jocelyn knew fiercely the strength of her daughter, even if Clary did not.

As Jocelyn moved to wipe at her dry eyes, her heart stopped. Her hand was pulled back, and she glanced slowly and groggily to the side, seeing her wrists restrained. Her heart quickened and she groaned quietly, looking around through the slight growing headache that ached within her. She was shackled to what seemed to be a bed she had been laid on.

Jocelyn's heart fell from her chest. She knew instantly what this meant, that she had failed miserably, and that the potion had not worked as it was supposed to. She was not safe at all. She had never been in more danger, and neither had Luke and Clary. The latter made her heart shatter. Her face contorted in pain, Jocelyn knew it was only a matter of time. She could pretend to still be lost to the numbness, could lie still for eternity, but he would know. He always found out.

Jocelyn wondered what had gone wrong. Had she drank the entire potion? Had she had time to finish it? Had she coughed some up as the door to her home burst open? Was it simply defective? She could remember nothing but fear and an impending blackness. She looked around, her head clearing slightly and noticed she was alone, but knew his men would not be far. They never were. She took stock and saw that she was in a white night gown. It was flattering, beautiful even, and she wondered what the point was, and worst of all who had changed her.

She laid her head back against the pillow in anguish as she thought of Clary, of how she had failed them all. She wondered where her daughter was, if Luke was caring for her, if she was safe or in Valentine's grasps as well. The thought made her stomach roll. She'd never intended Clary to so much as meet her father, and she more than had her reasons.

Jocelyn knew she wouldn't have to wait long, and she was correct. A few hours later, his men made their rounds, and though Jocelyn feigned unconsciousness once more, she could not suppress her yelp of pain as she was kneed hard in the side to provoke the reaction they'd been waiting on for days, life, pain.

"Finally," one of the men had grumbled.

Jocelyn couldn't say if the thought of coming face to face with the man who had once been her husband scared her. She didn't know if she feared him in the traditional sense, but more so what she knew he was capable of, what she knew he would want from her, and what she knew she could not give him.

Jocelyn heard footsteps but could move very little. She decided not to feed the attention he craved and closed her eyes instead, taking a deep breath as they approached.

There was a long silence that carried throughout the room, floating between them with a thick tension. She knew _he_ had come with them, could feel him in the room, but to look at him now would cause her the greatest pain.

"Jocelyn," he said at last.

She winced, his voice the same familiar tone. She remembered the way it sounded low against her ear, and the way it sounded when it rose in fury.

"Jocelyn," he said again, a slight warning in his tone. She opened her eyes, meeting his unreadable gaze. Their eyes locked for the first time in years and the breath left her body. A mixture of anguish and warmth clenched her chest and she winced involuntarily as she gazed up at him. She wondered how she looked to him, chained to a bed like an animal—an animal he'd put here.

He stared at her for a very long moment, his eyes studying her intently, tracing every inch of her face, her body, his jaw set firmly in a controlled mask.

"Where is the cup," he said simply at last.

She smiled a sad, knowing smile as she held his gaze before shaking her head slowly. It was all he needed, and she realized then from his reaction, that he had expected absolutely nothing less.

He nodded curtly, his posture stiffening further as he turned abruptly from her. "Get me the location of the cup," he ordered curtly, nodding to the two men at his side as he left the room, shutting the door tightly with a slam and leaving the three of them to her fate.

Several hours later, her body bruised from head to toe, her breath coming in painful spurts, she smiled weakly to herself as the men left the room in defeat, having gained nothing from her. Jocelyn allowed herself to cry out in pain as they shut the door, she pulled against one of the chains that held her upright against the wall for support. Her arms were bound above her head agonizingly, her feet barely touching the ground, just enough to give her some relief. Her hair had come down around her wildly, she could feel the blood matting it together, the way her night gone had fallen loose on her body from the repeated abuses.

She was proud of how long she'd held out, not knowing she had the strength. She wondered how much longer she could take it, and hoped she would die of injury soon, before he was able to do anything that would truly crack her. When she was gone all of her secrets would die with her. She had never wished for death more, for it would keep them safe.

Her true strength came from the thought of Clary, of her or Luke in danger because of immense power she'd put right in Valentine's hands. She wouldn't have it. She would die first, and she realized quite realistically, she just might.

It was then Jocelyn realized her cheeks were damp. She'd never experienced a physical pain so deep that it provoked tears you were not even conscious of. She attempted to regain her footing as she felt herself sagging against the chains in exhaustion, but every time she moved a sharp pain coursed through her ribs to accompany the aches around the rest of her body and she screamed in pain, unable to hold back.

Jocelyn let out a sob; she could feel the blood seeping in to her mouth as she opened it, the metallic taste making her gag.

"Clary," she heard herself breathe, her voice barely a hoarse whisper.

The doors to the room emerged once more sooner than anticipated. She realized he must be running low on time, and watched as the two men reentered, Valentine in their wake, determination in his stride.

"Useless bastards," he muttered to the men at his sides as his cold gaze took in the sight of her. There was a long pause as he panted in frustration, his eyes narrowing. She lifted her head.

"Leave us," he called sharply at last.

The men left the room swiftly, shutting the door tightly behind them and the room fell silent. The lighting was dim, mostly produced through the moonlight of the window and a low light on the corner, but she could see him well enough, the sharp angles of his cheek bones, the darkness of his eyes. She would recognize these features even in the faintest light.

Valentine watched her for a long moment before wordlessly stepping towards her. Jocelyn flinched without meaning to, and it did not go unnoticed. He moved more slowly towards her, holding her gaze.

He stopped just inches from her, their proximity startling. The way she was hoisted up, they were nearly eye level and she could feel the heat of his body.

He'd always been a man of charisma, his words could sway the world, and so his silence was startling to her, and his next gesture even more so. He reached up slowly, pushing her matted hair back off of her face and tucking it behind her ear. She winced as his hand firmly cupper her jaw, his thumb brushing surprisingly gently over what she knew to be a bruise. His eyes traced the marks on her face at length as he seemed to lose himself in the way he was studying her.

The softness that she saw flicker in his features for just an instant made her sob. His eyes flew to hers, and he was jolted from his revere. She watched him retrain his face. She knew it had never taken much for him to conceal himself, but still wondered at how quickly he had always been able to do it.

His features hardened, his hand did not leave her but tightened in her hair, tugging her head back slightly so their gazes locked once more.

"Enough, Jocelyn," he said finally, his voice clipped and impatient. "The cup," Was all he said, as his tone implied the rest.

She looked at him with sadness instead of defiance. "I can't," she said finally, her voice rough but firm.

He let out a long deep breath as his jaw tightened. He studied her.

"Make it easier on yourself," if she hadn't known better, she would have thought his tone was almost pleading.

He had more than enough fuel to hate her, to want her to suffer more immensely than she already had, but for an instant, she almost got the feeling that this wasn't what he wanted at all.

"What I do, I do for our daughter," she said at last.

His eyes narrowed. "Our daughter," he growled. "The one you tore from me when you threw our family to the curb," his hand came up, clenching her jaw so tightly she gasped as his gaze burned into hers.

She glared at him pointedly, setting her jaw. Jocelyn jerked it free of his hand despite the pain. "And you wonder why."

He fumed, panting against her. "Don't do this, Jocelyn. Just give me the cup."

"I cannot."

"I will get you to talk."

"What can you do that your minions haven't?" She challenged, her wrists burning as she pulled against the chains pointedly, wincing at the pain in her body as she moved.

He inched closer still, "You've no idea the things I can do," he threatened darkly, his hand coming to grip her bruised waist painfully. Jocelyn whimpered but remained defiant.

"God damn you," he roared at last, gripping her night gown and fisting it tightly before pulling down on it in frustration with such force that it ripped down the front, exposing the majority of her naked torso and chest.

Valentine glanced down, his eyes darkening as his attitude shifted with the turn of events, realizing another angle might be worth exploring.

His thumb traced the skin under her bust with familiarity as he gazed down at her.

"Don't touch me" she warned with all of the strength that remained in her.

He smirked darkly, but his heart wasn't in it.

He fisted one of her breasts painfully hard and she jerked against him.

"The mortal cup, Jocelyn," he warned again, his hand wondering lower down her torso menacingly.

"You've had my body before—" she began to retort in an effort to explain that nothing he could do to her would sway her, not even that, but she was interrupted when his fist collided with the side of her already bruised and bleeding face, her head turning violently to the side as she screamed.

"Do you enjoy pain?" He screamed at her in exasperation. "Christ woman, tell me where you've hidden it or so help me," he spat.

She merely looked at him, at the contoured pallet of emotions that made up his expression.

"You loved me once," she whispered at last through tears she wished more than anything she could stop. She knew it would end soon, it would all end. "You even promised never to hurt me."

His eyes flickered, crinkling slightly at the ends before he recovered leaving no sign that his defenses had briefly been breached.

"You betrayed me once."

A moment passed between them, both of them watching the other with torment. "I could kill you," he said at last, his voice controlled but clipped.

She nodded. "Then do it."

Jocelyn jumped and Valentine spun with swiftness only he could manage as the Door burst open with a jolt. She remembered little of the chaos of the next few minutes as the room flooded with wolves and Valentine's men.

What she did remember was Luke, and the agonizingly heartbroken look in his eyes when he entered the room and saw her. One of the most painful things about Luke was his capacity to feel, and the way in which his emotions played so clearly on his face. His compassion would forever be his redemption.

She never wanted to see him look like _that_ again.

"Jesus," he breathed, she could read it on his lips as she watched him sprint for her through the fury, his form half human half wolf.

"Clary," she breathed hoarsely.

"She's safe," she barely heard him but the fierceness in his tone sliced through her. "I kept her safe," he whispered, his voice chocked as she felt warm, soft material surround her as a pair of arms help hold her up.

Her body recognized in his presence its safety, and as she felt the chains that held her being tugged at, smelled Luke's scent consume her, she let herself succumb to the darkness that had been tugging on her for hours, lost somewhere between pain and comfort.

* * *

**The End.**

Because that is all I wished to explore here.

P.s. I'm aware I've made valentine a little less of a manipulative sweet talker and a little more of an emotionally charged brute. Authors slightly OOC choice.

Thoughts?


End file.
